


Like the Corners of My Mind

by gildedeggplant



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Angst, Glam Trash Cecil Palmer, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 12:19:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4787024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gildedeggplant/pseuds/gildedeggplant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cecil finds an old box, and it brings back painful memories. </p><p>(This is inspired by Glam Trash Cecil, who belongs to punkrockgaia)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like the Corners of My Mind

At the very back of the bedroom closet, behind a decade-old stack of municipal forms, there is a box. Inside the box are several pairs of ripped fishnet stockings, a midriff-baring purple blouse, assorted hot pants, and a well-worn pair of knee-high pink boots.

Despite the fact that no one has touched it in years, the whole box reeks of stale cigarette smoke.

Cecil doesn’t know why he has chosen this particular November day to clean out the closet. It's true that Carlos has observed, several times, that he only wears 13% of his wardrobe, but Carlos makes lots of observations. That’s what a scientist does: he observes. And a community radio host? Well, he nods and smiles, and waits for the scientist to observe other things.

So this flurry of domestic energy has nothing to do with his boyfriend, and everything to do with… well, who knows. Cecil has learned not to question his inexplicable compulsions.

It’s a big closet. By the time he reaches the back, Cecil is covered in dust and marabou, and a large pile of discarded clothing is blocking the door. When he picks up the box, he almost tosses it onto the pile without opening it, but the scent is overpowering. (Cecil rarely smokes, these days, but he still exhibits a Pavlovian response to the smell of it.)

Sinking onto the bare floor under the single light bulb that illuminates the tiny space, Cecil inhales deeply and opens the box.

Seeing the pink boots does not literally send him into the past. He has experienced involuntary time travel, and this is not it. It does, however, overwhelm his temporal reality with sense memories: the press of sweaty bodies - strangers keeping him upright when his own legs refuse to hold him. Noise and light and voices - sometimes mocking, sometimes sweet - but always with an edge. Always wanting. Liquid sliding down his throat, which is raw from… from what? From shouting? Yes, he has been shouting again. He is invincible.

Worst of all: pavement beneath his cheek as the dawn screams him awake. Groping for a hand and finding only empty space.

At some point Cecil stands up and pulls the cord that turns off the light. Then he sits back down with the box in his lap, and strokes the tattered fishnets, leaning against the wall and humming to himself. He must fall asleep that way, because the next thing he knows the closet is filled with light again and a hand is gently jostling his shoulder.

At first he thinks he’s back on the sidewalk again, and he cringes away. “Sorry… I’m sorry,” he mumbles, wrapping himself more tightly around the box. But then, through the smoke, he smells the familiar scent of lavender hand soap. “Carlos,” he croaks.

“Come on, baby. Let’s get you to bed.” He tries to pry the box out of Cecil’s hands, but Cecil jerks it away.

“No! Wait! I need to tell you. About this.”

Carlos lifts him to his feet. “Ok, Ceec, bring it with you, but seriously. Hon. I need to get out of here before I go into anaphylactic shock or something. It is really dusty in here.”

That snaps Cecil out of his reverie. “Ugh, I’m sorry. Let’s go.” He allows Carlos to lead him back into the bedroom, where he sets the box on the bed, then steps quickly away as if it’s filled with venomous snakes.

Carlos peers over the edge of the box. “May I…?” Cecil just nods, wrapping his arms around himself while Carlos pokes quickly through the contents, then looks curiously back at his boyfriend. “Ok, you’re going to have to explain. If you want! Because this just looks like a slightly rattier collection of your clothes.”

Cecil squeezes his eyes shut. “Ok, so… after my family disappeared. Things were… weird.” He swallows hard past the lump in his throat. Carlos sets the box gently on the floor and pulls him down to the bed.

When they are snuggled together with Cecil as the little spoon, he continues. “I was. Not ok. I made… a lot of bad choices.” He chokes back a sob. “And Earl… I was so terrible….”

Carlos is a scientist. He knows how to take the contents of the box and the fragments Cecil is telling him and make something like a coherent story. Gently, pulling his boyfriend close and kissing his hair, he asks, “So, your whole family support structure collapsed, and you responded by acting out. Maybe with some promiscuous behavior, among other things. And you also think you could have been a more sensitive friend.”

Then Cecil is falling apart, curling into himself and shaking with grief, and Carlos just holds him through it. He whispers loving nonsense and keeps his arms wrapped tight around the other man’s shoulders until the torrent of tears subsides into regular, shuddering breaths. Finally Cecil whispers, “Why doesn’t he hate me, Carlos?”

Carlos doesn’t even need to stop and think. “Because he understands you. Maybe better than I do, even.” He brushes Cecil’s hair back from his forehead. “I wish I could have known you back then, honey bunny.”

Cecil shakes his head. “Ugh. No you don’t.”

“Yes I do. You needed a higher volume of love than you were receiving. Maybe between the two of us we could have…” He trails off. “Huh.”

“Huh?” Cecil swivels around, trying to look Carlos in the eye. “Huh what? That sounds like a dangerously scientific ‘huh.’”

Carlos tries to hide a grin. “Oh, nothing. I just had an idea.” He puts on an innocent expression that is laughably unconvincing. “So... what do you think about inviting Earl over for brunch tomorrow?”


End file.
